


Hunting 101

by cillasstuff



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Spn Origins, Young Dean Winchester, Young John Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cillasstuff/pseuds/cillasstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The end of one part of our lives usually means giving birth to something new. Missouri Moseley teaches John Winchester how to channel the pain of losing his wife in a way that will change his and his sons lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunting 101

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyryk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyryk/gifts).



> This was fun to write because it let me step out of my comfort zone and explore a different side of supernatural. It is pre-series and I jumped at the chance to write a story about Missouri. I hope lyryk likes it. This is my summergen contribution taken from lyryk’s prompt: I'm partial to queer women and women of colour, so fic about Charlie, Cassie, Tamara, Kali or Missouri would be very happy-making to me. 
> 
> When I read her prompt, the line from John’s journal I went to Missouri and learned the truth popped into my head and that’s how this story came to be. Thanks to the always wonderful saltandburnboys for the super quick beta, any mistakes found are my own. I do not own the characters, nor am I profiting from this story.

Missouri Moseley walked over to the brightly lit Christmas tree in her den cum reading room and placed several colorfully wrapped packages underneath it. This year the old fake tree had been replaced with a live Douglass fir and as she stood back and admired the tree with its red and gold decorations, happy with her decision to have a live tree, she smiled. Christmas was her favorite holiday; she loved the festive colors, the tacky light displays and sometimes, when she was in a bad mood, she would drive around to look at them. She always marveled at how the food and the good will seemed to bring out the best in people, unless there was a sale involved. 

Because it could hold more people, in a couple of weeks her home would be over flowing with family and friends for dinner and gift exchanges. Her sisters and brothers for some reason still seemed surprised that she celebrated the holiday; after all, Christmas was Christian celebration and they thought that she was a heathen because she talked to dead people. Armed with fake smiles and bible verses, they called her names and reminded her that she was going to hell, but they still took the presents she gave them because it was the Christian thing to do. Goddamned Family. 

The handsome dark-skinned woman stood there for a second longer and admired her tree before returning to the kitchen to clean up the excess paper and ribbons. The exchange of gifts and the excitement of not knowing what you were getting, even if it was just another bathrobe from her family, she stilled loved it, loved the holiday. She mused, as she continued to clean up the remnants of her gift wrapping materials, that it was the fact that every Christmas filled her with hope for the coming year only to be let down in some way by the people in her life. Just when the last of the mess was gone from her kitchen table, her phone rang. 

Missouri knew who it was on the phone because she had been expecting this call all day. She had been having visions all week about him coming and now it was her turn to talk to the man. He had been going through the yellow pages to find someone to help him uncover the truth and now hers was the next name and number on the list. Considering what the man had been through, she supposed that it had taken him this long to gather up the nerve to consult another psychic. He’d soon find out, though, that she was very different from the rest because she knew what had happened in that nursery. 

John Smith was the name he’d given her, but she knew that was a lie. John Winchester was his real name. The visions had revealed a lot about him; his real name included. They had also revealed that John and his children, especially the baby, were not safe from the demon that had caused the fire. So many people had pretended to do what she actually could. They had lied to him and expected him to pay for the privilege, so it was only natural that he was reluctant to come see her; he was protecting himself in the event that she turned out to be another fake. 

When he finally found her phone number and called her, she could barely breathe because, during the short conversation, her senses were assaulted by the acrid smell of smoke and burning flesh. He may not believe in her now, but by the time he left her home, John Winchester would know the truth. What he chose to do with it was up to him. 

∞∞∞∞∞

When he eventually arrived at her home, she watched him from her kitchen window as he warred with himself about whether or not to come inside and talk to her. The inner struggle that he was fighting sent off waves of sorrow and hurt that even the fake psychics would’ve been able to feel. The war that he was fighting was trying to decide whether to pay another liar or walk away; however, in the end, his overwhelming need to know won out. 

 

It was late afternoon when he’d finally arrived, but she knew that his inner turmoil started long before he parked in front of her home. He sat in a huge black car and stared at her Christmas decorations as though he was at the wrong place. She turned to put on a pot of coffee when he made up his mind to come inside. 

 

Missouri knew what was going through his mind as he stared at her house. Where was the sign that declared her a psychic and a list of what she could do? She didn’t need all of that; even her listing in the phone book was understated - just her name and number. Honestly the only reason people knew she was a psychic was because she was listed between Nick ‘The Great’ Santana and Paula the Magnificent; however, neither of them were great or magnificent. She smiled to herself when she felt the struggle stop as he made up his mind and got out of his car. 

Once he was inside, Missouri felt the waves of sadness coming off the man as she led him into her den where she did her readings. Despite the fact that this man was in mourning she had to be careful. Each time she let someone into her home for the first time, she had to remember that they were a stranger and, as she led him into the reading room, she took comfort in the fact that she kept a gun next to her chair for protection. Some people didn’t like what she had to tell them and would try to take out their displeasure on her. Humans were unpredictable that way, Missouri thought, as she sat down, bade him to do the same, and waited for him to speak. 

“I don’t know what you want if you don’t talk,” she encouraged. “However, you can start out on the right foot by telling me your real name.” 

“I thought that you could read my mind, sorry. Oh, it’s John, John Wesson,” the man lied to her again. 

“First of all, I’m a psychic, not a mind reader; mind reading is a parlor trick. Secondly, that’s the second lie that you done told me, John,” she scolded him. “Tell me another and we’re through and you’ll never find what you’re looking for.” 

Missouri knew that a lot of people, especially men, thought that because she had high pitched voice and sounded like a child they could treat her like one. She quickly disabused them of that idea by shocking them with a morsel of information, so she reached over, touched John, and jumped at the images that burned behind her eyes. 

“If it makes you feel any better, she wasn’t supposed to be there.” 

“What?” John asked as he snapped his head up so fast that it looked painful. As he let her words sink in, she could see that he was still fighting that inner war as to whether or not to believe her, but he definitely didn’t think she was a child anymore. 

“In the room, the nursery, she wasn’t supposed to be there. As a matter of fact, she’d promised him that she wouldn’t interfere.” 

“Winchester, my name is John Eric Winchester,” he quickly told her, and she could see that his need for self-protection had fallen by the wayside in the light of what she was telling him. “Are you saying that my Mary knew the person who killed her?” 

“She didn’t know him very well, but yes, they had met before,” Missouri confirmed. “You need to keep in mind that when she made this promise to this… man, she really wasn’t given much of a choice, that she was stuck between Scylla and Charybdis.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“It’s simple really, John; it was a choice between a visit to her not yet conceived, unborn child in ten years’ time or your life. She chose you.” 

She knew that he didn’t understand, but she also knew that Mary did, or rather had. The moment she’d made that deal with the demon that took her life started a series of events that still hadn’t played out, and wouldn’t end until her sons were fully grown. The life she’d been so desperately running from had finally caught up with Mary and she’d paid with her life. 

Cocking her head, she asked, “What do you know about the supernatural, John Eric Winchester?” 

Missouri watched as he sat back and stared at her before answering, “I know that, just like religion, it’s a bunch of bullshit made up by people when they have no logical explanation for something.” 

“You mean bullshit like watching your wife burn on the ceiling of your child’s nursery?” she chided. 

The comment had the man visibly shaking now, so Missouri let him collect his thoughts as she stood up, went to the kitchen, and prepared a cup of coffee for him. She walked back into the den, bearing a tray of coffee and its accoutrements, and watched as he used sugar but not cream. Since he was still shaking, she went to the side board she used to store her spirits and grabbed a bottle of vodka to add to his coffee to help settle his nerves a little. 

“I had to tell someone, so l confided in my business partner, and he…he told me that it was the stress of the situation…that I was confused about what I saw. Even if he thought that, it didn’t stop him from looking at me as though I was crazy. Missouri, I know what I saw. She was on that goddamned ceiling. After that I never told anyone else, even the other psychics; I never told them and they never mentioned it. Not until you.” 

“Here’s a secret; most psychics are fake, but I’m sure you’ve discovered that by now, and here’s another; the supernatural shit that you don’t believe in is also very real. If you don’t believe it, just read the bible and it will tell you all you need to know. You may not believe in religion, but you’ll soon learn that the bible is kind of an instruction manual for the shit storm you’ve just stepped into.” 

Missouri was going to continue, but suddenly a horrific vision was shown to her. Just as she’d suspected, it was a demon that had killed Mary Winchester, but this was no ordinary demon. In her visions, he was shrouded in shadow, but he always placed a spotlight on the young woman’s body as he eviscerated her to make Missouri watch. This demon was powerful. If he could take control of her visions, then he was extremely powerful and she was more than a little scared. 

“Look …” John started. 

“A demon killed your wife, John,” she continued, ignoring his outburst. “A demon. He’s powerful and is hiding from me, but he’s more than happy to show me what he did to her. He tore her apart for interrupting him and watched as she burned.” 

Once she’d told him what she’d just seen, Missouri walked over to the sideboard, grabbed a couple of glasses, and poured a liberal amount of vodka into both. She gave one to John and she drank the other, in an effort to calm her nerves. 

After the glasses had been drained, John looked at her and asked, “So what happens next?” 

“That depends on you. Did you bring something of the boys?” she asked. Missouri had asked him to bring something belonging to the children because, even though Mary had been killed, she didn’t feel that the young mother was the one he’d come for. 

“Yeah,” the big man confirmed. He stood up, reached into his pocket, pulled out two items and reluctantly handed them over to her as he explained what they were. “The racecar belongs to Dean and the pacifier is Sammy’s.” 

It seemed so wrong that these symbols of innocence were being used to conjure up evil. Once she touched the items, her visions came hard and fast and made her head hurt, but she couldn’t stop them. She needed to be able to tell this man what had left his sons motherless. She kept seeing blood, not a lot, but enough to indicate a lot of damage had been done to someone. Missouri kept trying to see his face, but the demon kept hiding from her, and then she saw them - his eyes. Yellow eyes. She had never heard of a demon with yellow eyes. That was her last thought before the vision was gone. 

Once she was out of her trance, Missouri felt something warm on her lip, and when she swiped at it with her hand, the blood coating her fingers surprised her. Her nose was bleeding and she felt light headed. This had never happened before. As she stared at her hand, she felt the startlingly gentle hands of John Winchester cleaning the blood from her face with his handkerchief.

Looking up at her, he asked again, “What happens next?” 

“Have you ever been hunting, John?” she asked before she blacked out. 

When Missouri woke four hours later, she instantly became aware of two things; it was dark outside and there was an unknown baby crying somewhere in her home. Why was there a child in her home? God, she hoped that her sister wasn’t here with her annoying kids. Her head still hurt and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with them. 

Missouri made to sit up, but the wave of dizziness that attacked her, forced her to sit back down until it passed. Once the dizziness was gone, she followed the crying until she was in her kitchen; she was more than a little surprised by the sight before her. John Winchester and his sons were eating dinner at her kitchen table as though they belonged there. 

“Missouri,” a harried looking John greeted her as he looked up from the crying baby in his arms. “I didn’t want to leave you here alone, but I couldn’t leave the kids with Mike.” 

Missouri didn’t respond to John; she was too busy taking in the state of her once immaculate kitchen. Something red had been spilled on the white stovetop, and three of the four burners had a dirty pot sitting on them. There were toys on the floor, along with crayons that had been ground into the linoleum where adult feet had repeatedly stepped on them. 

The sink was filled with even more dirty pots, and oh God, then there was the odor. It smelled as though something had been burned, and that smell was warring with what she was sure was a dirty diaper from the baby. 

Walking further into the room, Missouri looked at what the older child was eating - tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. She was trying to figure out how the man had created this mess just from opening a can and slapping a piece of cheese between two slices of bread. 

“I’m sorry about the mess, Missouri,” John apologized as he waved his free hand around the room. “I’m used to having Mare around to help me with the boys, and lately Mike’s wife and…”

She just shook her head and laughed, “You take care of your boys, John, and I’ll take care of the kitchen.” 

As the young woman began to clean, she suddenly remembered what John had said earlier - that he had to get the kids from Mike. 

“You told your friend about our conversation, didn’t you?” 

“I did,” he confirmed, “but now I have proof that a demon killed Mary…that she was on the ceiling.” 

“John, you didn’t believe it yourself until this afternoon, so how in the hell can you expect a man, who has already called you crazy, to believe it just because you tell him that a psychic has confirmed your story? If you keep this up, his next step will be to CPS and they will take your boys from you,” she warned. 

“He wouldn’t…”

“If you believe that then why didn’t you leave the boys there?” she challenged. 

She watched as the man hugged the baby closer to his chest and placed his hand on Dean’s head. John was going to have to make some hard decisions soon. 

“I’m flying blind here, Missouri, so if you have answers, I’m listening,” he grudgingly admitted. 

Missouri dried her hands, walked over to John, and took the baby from his arms. 

“I have a spare bedroom that you and the boys can use tonight. Once you get them settled, you and I will begin to talk options but nothing has to be decided tonight.” 

As though prompted, Dean piped up and said, “I’m finished, daddy,” as he pushed his empty bowl towards the weary man. 

“I’ve got the baby; go on and get him ready for bed,” she said before she began to hum to the gurgling baby in her arms. 

John walked with Dean down the hallway to the spare bedroom to give him a bath and prepare him for bed. Missouri sat in her favorite chair as she stopped humming and began to softly sing a song her mother used to sing to her when she was a child. The song was an attempt to soothe baby Sam and block out the visions of the Yellow eyed demon that were bombarding her. 

Once John had taken Sam up to the spare room as well and settled him down with Dean, he rejoined Missouri as she sat at the kitchen table reading a newspaper. He was glad that it was bedtime because he wanted to talk without interruptions. She could tell that John wanted to ask her all kinds of questions, but she avoided any conversation because she wasn’t exactly sure how much attention Dean had been paying to their earlier conversation. An innocent comment from an innocent child could have people asking unnecessary questions and they didn’t need that. 

 

“You wanna tell me why you were mad at me for telling Mike about our conversation?” John demanded. “Mike and his wife are friends, I can trust them.” 

“Can you? Supernatural means supernatural,” she explained. “You don’t know if your friends have been possessed or if, on the off chance, they’ll mention something to someone who is. Not only that, but you running your mouth could be putting their lives in danger as well. Tell me, John, do you want to be responsible for your friends’ deaths?” 

“I don’t understand any of this; I was just a mechanic who loved his wife and maybe drank a little too much sometimes,” John complained. “But I didn’t ask for this any of it, and now you’re accusing me of putting my friends’ lives in danger.” 

”No, no, John, you didn’t. But just like you can’t unlearn how to ride a bike, you can’t forget that there really are things that go bump in the night and that they can hurt you,” Missouri said sympathetically. “But now you know it exists and more importantly, it knows that you know. You can sit around and pretend it doesn’t exist if you want, but it’s going to come back and get what it came for - Sammy.” 

”Sammy?” John asked, looking towards the stairs as though he wanted to grab the baby and protect him from whatever was out there. “He’s just a baby.”

“I asked you earlier if you were a hunter, but that won’t work because sitting in a deer blind waiting for your prey will just get you killed. You served in Vietnam, right?” 

“Yeah, I was a Marine,” he confirmed.

“Good, because the skills you learned there will be helpful, and, more notably, will keep your newbie ass alive.” 

“Okay, I’ll bite; what does being a Marine have to do with the thing that killed Mary?” 

“It’s simple really, John. That demon that killed Mary; he’s not sitting around in Lawrence waiting for you to find him. He’s going to be busy, John, attacking other babies and killing other mothers, so if you want vengeance for Mary, then you’re going to have to hunt the son of a bitch down.”

Missouri reached for the newspaper that she’d been reading and asked conversationally, “Have you ever read a story in the newspaper that didn’t make sense to you? Like this story,” she said as she pointed to the article that she’d been reading. 

The psychic watched as John read the story and looked for signs of understanding, but he wore the same puzzled frown from the moment he’d started reading until he’d finished. 

”So what is this?” John asked, “This story has been all over the news for the past week; some kid hanged himself and they’re saying the parents did it because they were the only ones there, but they have no proof.” 

“That is one of the reasons that supernatural shit goes on for so long - people try to rationalize things that aren’t rational.” Missouri walked over to a drawer, retrieved a pile of photocopies, and placed them in front of John. “How do you rationalize this?” 

She watched as he hurriedly glanced at the paper; the sheets were copies of newspaper articles going back twenty years, all featuring stories about a teenager hanging himself in the same place in the house where the recent victim and his family lived. 

“Are you saying there is something killing these kids and that it’s not suicide?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

“Lady, you’re fucking nuts,” John snapped as he jumped from the table. “I’m getting my boys and we’re leaving.” 

“As crazy as seeing your wife burning on the ceiling, huh, John?” She waited for her words to sink in before she continued, “I was in the process of putting this together for a hunter friend of mine; it’s a simple salt and burn, just a small matter of working out who the ghost is. This is a good job for you to get your feet wet. If you survive this, I’ll find someone to help you learn what you need to hunt down this demon.”

“What makes you so sure that I’ll do this?” 

“Because during this entire conversation, you never once denied that you wanted revenge for your wife’s death, and besides, boy, I’m a psychic.” 

John just grinned at her and asked, “What’s our first step?” 

“We go visit the grieving family.” 

The visit to the family was surprisingly easy; Missouri knew that a lot of hunters (men) would have pretended to have been some form of law enforcement, but that disguise sometimes caused people to shut down, especially when they were the accused. Since this was John’s first time, a simple ruse was chosen and the pair pretended to be part of a support group for families of Vietnam vets who had committed suicide. By the time the embarrassment of the faux Vietnam mix-up was glossed over, they offered genuine comfort to the family and they were able to use their grief to get the answers they needed.

The youngest member of the Ritchie family, a six-year old named Sarah, was the one to bring up the ghost, and Missouri’s childlike voice worked for her and she was able to get the child to describe the ghost. As they were leaving, the parents nervously thanked her for indulging the child.

“You did well in there,” Missouri complimented John once they were back in his car.

“Pfft, I froze up and came off like an idiot; those people probably think I’m a fool,” he lamented as he banged his head against the steering wheel.

“Nah, they just think that you’re shell shocked,” she laughed as he drove away.

The next stop was the courthouse to check out the past ownership of the house. From the description they’d garnered from Sarah Ritchie, the ghost had to be at least 100 years old, but that was the puzzling part - the house was only about sixty years old.

“This doesn’t make sense; I can’t find anything older than sixty years ago,” Missouri complained.

The young blonde clerk, who was dressed as what could only be described as a Goth Pat Benatar, had been flirting with John since they’d entered the building and volunteered to help, “Let me research that for you.”

“Sure, honey,” Missouri agreed when she noticed that John was going to turn the girl down. He might as well learn now that he needed to use all of his resources and if that meant pretending he was going to bang a chick for a little help, then so be it.

After another hour of searching through deeds and plats, they found what they were looking for…well, part of it any way. They found the original deed but it wasn’t for the house that currently stood there. That meant another trip to the library. 

It seemed that the original house had sat abandoned for years after the Union army had used it as a base for low-level military brass. The people who’d owned the house had been imprisoned because they’d been Confederate sympathizers. All of this had been unknown to their son who’d returned home after a battle injury. The Union officers had hanged the young man from the stairwell.

The house then sat empty for years, fell into disrepair, and was eventually torn down, and the current home was built using reclaimed wood and other pieces from the old house. The story provided them with a name and burial records showing where the boy was buried. Now it was time to see what John Eric Winchester was really made of.

“This is exhausting work,” John complained as they pulled into the parking lot of the local hardware store.

“Well, now it’s about to get harder and physical,” she chuckled as she gave him the list of items that they needed to salt and burn the soldier’s body.

The list included a large bag of rock salt, a small gasoline can, and two shovels. After leaving the store, the pair headed back to Missouri’s where they ate a dinner of ham sandwiches and chips. The boys were spending the night with a friend of Mary’s so that John’s training could begin.

“John, do you know any folklore about killing ghosts?” she asked in between bites.

“No,” he admitted softly.

“Well, this, my friend, is salt and burn 101 and this class will separate the men from the boys. Salt is used to purify the spirit, and the fire can then destroy it and make sure what’s dead stays dead,” she explained. “Tonight, you and I, well, mostly you, are going to dig up that young soldier and salt and burn his bones.”

Stopping mid bite, John stared at her and asked, “Why would you want to do some crazy shit like that?”

“That crazy shit is how we stop that ghost from killing anybody else, John. So another family won’t have to go through what the Ritchie’s is.”

“Well, why don’t we somehow get them to move out of that house? Let’s try that because I’m not going to desecrate a grave.”

“We could do that, but what happens when the next family finds their son swinging from the end of a rope? Do we convince them to move too? If we show up often enough, maybe we’ll eventually stop people from moving in.”

“You don’t know that another kid will die,” he tried.

“Yes, I damn well do, John,” she spat at him as she grabbed the photocopies from earlier and placed them in front of him again. “It happened in 1940, 1945, 1951, 54, and 56. Oh, and please, let us not forget Thomas Bright in 1963 since he was the only causality during that decade. Do I need to continue on until I reach the Ritchie kid?”

“Now look…” he started.

“No, you look,” the angry woman retorted. “If you’re too chicken shit to do this, then you should have told me and I could have had this taken care of instead of wasting my time with your sorry ass. In the future, when that demon comes for your son, and he will come, John, you can tell yourself that you didn’t know that he was coming, and maybe that and a fifth of whatever will help you sleep at night.” 

“I’m scared, Missouri,” John confessed. “It’s one thing to research plats and deeds, but if I do this, it’ll mean that all of this is real. Once I burn these bones, this will be something that I can’t come back from. I won’t be able to close my eyes to what’s out there.”

“You may not realize it, John, but haven’t been able to do that since Mary died.” 

∞∞∞∞

The trip to the cemetery was a quiet one. Missouri could tell that John was nervous, but she’d rather have him nervous than cocky. Cocky meant reckless and that could get them both killed. The grave, as they always were, was located at the back of the cemetery, where the headstones were older and in disrepair because the families were long dead and no longer able to keep them up.

They got out of the car and started walking toward the grave when Missouri stopped John, “Take what we need with us, John, because we won’t be able to come back for it.”

She could tell that he wanted to argue with her instructions, because he opened his mouth once before quickly closing it again. She reasoned that he must have understood that arguing would be futile.

The soldier’s ghost made its appearance just as John was pouring salt onto the decaying bones. As it made its way to John, Missouri swung the iron fireplace poker through it and John watched in fascination as the ghost dissipated.  
She hadn’t told John that the ghost would try to stop them, because if she had given away that little tidbit, he wouldn’t have come.

“Quick, John; get out of there and light his ass up before he comes back,” Missouri ordered as she took another swing at the attacking apparition.

“Now, John!”

John seemed to snap out of the trance he’d fallen into since the ghost’s appearance. He climbed out of the mouth of the grave, throwing the lit match in behind him. He emerged just in time to see it go up in flames just before it’s hand connected with Missouri’s head. After the ghost had been dispatched, the pair filled the grave back in and grinned at each other like a pair of silly kids, because they were both so happy to be alive.

∞∞∞∞∞  
It had been a couple of months since the salt and burn and Missouri had arranged for John to go on several hunts with Bill Harvelle. She had chosen the other hunter because he was close to John in age, and because he was married and would eventually have a family. A friendship like that would be good for the boys and would give them somewhat of a normal life, but until then, she was keeping them with her.

Missouri smiled as she watched the little boy keep a watchful eye on his baby brother. Before John had left, he had instructed the four year to watch out for Sammy and Dean clearly took that responsibility very seriously. He was a cute kid with big ears, that she hoped he would grow into, huge green eyes and a smile that could melt the coldest heart. She refused to admit how much she had grown to love the kid, and when John had once asked her why she was always smiling at Dean, she just said, “He looks so goofy that he makes me smile.” 

This was why she’d never had children or gotten married. When she was younger, she’d wanted children as much as her mama had wanted her to have them, but after the first dead person had contacted her when she was fifteen, she’d known that she would never have that life. She’d known the evil that was out there and she hadn’t been prepared to subject someone she loved to that life just to fulfill her own selfish needs. 

When she’d begun doing readings and working with hunters, she’d settled for taking and giving comfort in lieu of a real family. But as she watched these two little boys, for a moment, she wondered if she’d made the right choice. 

While John was on a hunt with Bill, she was the logical choice to care for the boys because John no longer trusted Mike and his wife. She knew what was out there and how to protect them if something evil came for the boys, or rather, for Sammy. She didn’t know what the demon wanted with the boy but it wasn’t about sacrifice; it was about pure evil.

Their father would be back soon, but she knew that their time here was done. She knew that there was nothing to hold them in Lawrence any longer, and John was away on a hunt more often than he was in town now. Their house had been sold, as well as John’s share of his business, so there were no ties. An hour later, John came back into town, tired and dirty and hungry, looking to Missouri for a meal. She rolled her eyes at him as she prepared him a light dinner.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” John told her.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” she said as she made her way upstairs to bed.

Once she was in her room, she willed herself not to cry because that would be stupid. Somehow, she had let that family worm their way into her life, into her heart, when she knew that she was going to have to let them go. Hunting 101 was all about learning the rules of hunting; how the hell had she forgotten the lesson about not getting attached to anyone?

She was still asking herself that the next morning as they drove away, with Dean staring out the back window at her with that goofy smile. This time, she let herself cry.


End file.
